


if the world was ending

by archers_and_spies



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov's Arrow Necklace, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23646673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archers_and_spies/pseuds/archers_and_spies
Summary: Now that SHIELD's fallen, Natasha's only got one place to go home to, but she'll have to smooth some issues out with him first.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	if the world was ending

**Author's Note:**

> This song has been stuck in my head for a few days now ~~because the world is literally ending~~ and I just had to write this out, even if it ended up a bit messy.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the song.  
> Also, " _I know you know we know we weren't meant for each other, and it's fine_ " is a beautiful lyric and I ended up including it buT I don't agree with it in this context because Clint and Natasha are soulmates and I will die on this hill.

_I try to imagine your reaction  
It didn’t scare me when the earthquake happened_

She releases the files into the world. All of them.

She attends the conference and then hands the file over to Rogers. He smiles at her and she’s surprised that she can muster a sincere one too, despite everything that’s happened in the past few days-- has it only been days? She leaves, but not before giving him a warning that he’s sure to ignore.

All the while, she’s incredibly conscious of the little silver charm on her neck.

After debating internally with herself for the next two hours, she decides to track him down, which takes considerably less time since the files are all online now, something she’ll have to get used to. She’s also not naive enough to think that he’ll definitely be happy to see her, given that she was the one who closed the door on him the last time they were with each other. 

_No_ , she thinks, _I am not going to make myself rethink this._ She _can’t_ , because this is them, this is _Clint_ , and they’ve always worked this way, even if they haven’t been— well. She can’t afford to assume that anything’s changed.

They’ve always worked this way. That’s something she lives by. He hasn’t sent a message, so he expects her to go to him. Or rather, he’s giving her the choice.

_But it really got me thinking  
The night we went drinking  
Stumbled in the house and didn’t make it past the kitchen_

She doesn’t have to look that far. His last mission was somewhere in San Diego, so the closest off the record joined safehouse-slash-apartment of theirs would be in Los Angeles. Not very peaceful, but hey, it’s easier to blend in when there are actual people around. Plus, off the books means they won’t have to worry about the location being compromised. She’s confident he’s smart enough to at least figure that out.

She enters the apartment and already knows she was right. Clint is not a tidy person: there’s an open suitcase on the floor spilling out pieces of clothing, socks strewn on even the coffee table. She’s usually irritated by the messy lifestyle he leads, but today she’s actually a bit relieved to see his signs of existence. Goes to show just how much she’s missed him.

There’s a lopsided neon post-it on the fridge that can’t be missed. The sharpie used to ~~write~~ scrawl hastily on it is resting on the kitchen counter. 

_knew you’d come for me ;)_

When she walks into the bar in a blonde wig, a black spaghetti strap top and basic jeans, he’s already there, at least three empty shot glasses beside him. It seems he’s gotten frustrated with the tiny size of those, and is drinking directly from the bottle itself. She walks up to him quickly and snatches it away, ignoring the other men who are eyeing her hungrily and repressing a shudder.

“Hey, that’s mine. Give— give it back! I’ve gotta save some for my, uh— my partner, she’s coming here, she’ll be here soon.”

There’s a fleeting image that crosses her mind: the two of them at this exact same bar three or four years ago undercover as a couple, celebrating after a particularly tough mission was finally completed. His hand on her waist, her head on his shoulder when she finally started feeling the buzz, knocking into pieces of furniture when they got back to the apartment.

She can reminisce later, she reminds herself forcefully. For now she’s got more important things to be on her mind, like how drunk Clint must be, given that he couldn’t recognise her in just a simple wig.

“Idiot, it’s me,” she whispers fiercely. “What are you doing here?”

“Nat, it’s you! I’m drinking my troubles away! Why, do you not approve? Because I’ve seen you do that quite a lot of—“

“Lower your voice, will you? I’m not exactly public best friend number one. And no, stop— look at me. Do I look like I’m drinking my troubles away? Am I avoiding them like a coward?”

That shuts him up, and she softens but only a little, because he’s her partner after all, and she does understand where he’s coming from.

“Look, I get it. Things aren’t the best right now. But I need you.” Her voice breaks on the last sentence. “Please.”

_Oh, it’s been a year now, think I’ve figured out how  
How to think about you without it ripping my heart out_

“Natasha, wait.” He takes hold of her wrist before she can leave the briefing room. “Don’t go yet.”

She turns warily. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s just,” Clint waits until after the others file slowly and awkwardly out of the door before he continues. “I don’t know, we haven’t been getting a lot of time together. I miss you,” he says, smiling shyly.

“Sap,” she teases, mostly to cover up her own blush.

“I mean it.” He takes a few steps backwards and reaches under the briefing table. “I got you something.”

She approaches him curiously as he retrieves a black jewelry box. He hands it over to her, and she opens it to reveal a silver necklace with a little arrow at the front. She smiles.

“It’s very sentimental,” she remarks.

“It’s kind of stupid, I know, but I was thinking--”

“Sentimental in a good way,” she assures him. “Thank you.”

He hesitates. “Should I-- is this the part where I help you put it on?”

She turns so that her back is facing him, and sweeps her hair over one shoulder. He clasps it at the back of her neck, and the cold metal tingles her skin. She turns back after he’s done, and _oh, they weren’t standing this close before_.

“How do I look?” She whispers.

“Beautiful,” he replies, and then he’s leaning forward and kissing her gently. Her heart races and she melts into him, her hand coming up to tangle itself in his hair. A rush of feeling washes over her, and she wonders why they waited so long, because it feels so natural, so _right_.

When they finally break apart for air, Clint says, “God, Natasha, I--”

“You what?” She asks softly.

“I love you. Natasha.”

The smile drains from her face, and Clint instantly backtracks. “Nat, wait--”

“I have to go,” she interrupts coldly before detaching herself from his body and leaving, the necklace still resting on her collarbone. He doesn’t chase after her.

_And I know you know we know you weren’t down for forever, and it’s fine  
I know you know we know we weren’t meant for each other, and it’s fine_

“How sober are you exactly?” Natasha asks after the apartment door closes behind them.

“Sober enough to remember how we ended up here.”

“How we ended up _here_ , or how _we_ ended up here?”

“Natasha.” He looks at her and there are a thousand unspoken words in his eyes.

“I was scared,” she says as if it’s obvious, and she hates being vulnerable like this, she really does, but if there’s one person she trusts, it’s Clint. It’ll always be Clint. “You know that, right? I was scared. I’ve had some time to think this over, and--”

“Yeah, you have. You _walked out_ on me, then disappeared for, what, three months? No messages, _nothing_. If it’d been anyone else, if I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought you were dead. And then suddenly your face is on the cover of every newspaper in the world.”

She ducks her head. Her fear of those three little words had evidently hurt Clint beyond imagination if he was willing to raise his voice at her. “That’s-- that’s fair. But-- Clint, if we’re going to work this out, you’ll have to listen. Can you at least promise me that? It’s all I’m asking.” Her tone of voice borders on pleading.

“No, don’t-- don’t.” He turns and walks a few steps, leaving some distance between them. 

“Don’t what?”

“Tasha. You know I can’t stay mad at you if you keep looking at me like that.”

 _Me too_ , she wants to tell him. _You don’t know how many times I’ve tried to sleep at night but instead dream about those gorgeous blue eyes of yours and wake up with tears in mine._ But that would be guilt-tripping, that’d be playing the victim, and she’s a hundred percent aware that what she did was wrong.

She sighs impatiently, “That’s exactly why I ran. Clint, we’ve known each other for so long, and when you told me…”

“I meant it, you know, just in case you think there’s a chance of me taking it back. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to see you as just a friend, but I get it. I’m sorry for kissing you. I totally understand if you don’t feel the same--”

“That’s the thing, Barton,” she snaps, frustrated. “I do. Unless getting drunk alters your memory or something, you have to remember that I kissed you back. It’s the other way around: I ran because I feel the _same_ , of course I do.”

He stares at her with maybe a little bit of awe, and she adds, “How could I not?”

A grin slowly overtakes his face, and he says, “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.”

“You have a _crush_ on me? That’s embarrassing.”

“Shut up.” She shoves him a bit so he lands on the couch and she sits on his lap sideways, bringing her legs up. It should be sinful how natural this feels, but then again, of course it is. It’s always been Clint and Natasha, and she can’t believe it took her this long to figure it out. She leans up a little to kiss the corner of his mouth, and he chuckles.

_But if the world was ending you’d come over, right?  
You’d come over and you’d stay the night?  
Would you love me for the hell of it?  
All our fears would be irrelevant_

“Wait, Fury’s not dead?”

“Yeah. Surprised you didn’t figure that one out sooner.”

“Okay, so what happens now? What do we do?”

“I don’t know. God, it’s been a hell of a week.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve been there with you and Rogers.”

“Come on, it’s not like you could’ve predicted this entire thing. Heaven knows I didn’t.”

“I’ve thought about leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. before, you know. More like, I didn’t really see it as something permanent. I end up running away from most of the places I find myself in. Until, of course, you came along.”

She gives him a little smile. “I know what you mean. Now that we’re finally free from all of it… well. It’s not as liberating as we thought it would be.”

“It’s kind of weird, how even before this, we used to think about the future as something we’d face together. Never I, just we.”

Natasha hums, “Yeah. And in an odd way, it’s come full circle.”

He takes her hand and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to; she understands completely.

_If the world was ending you’d come over, right?_  
The sky’d be falling while I hold you tight  
No, there wouldn’t be a reason why  
We would even have to say goodbye

“Thank you,” he says softly that night, when he has an arm wrapped around her. “For everything. Breaking me out of my stupor. Trusting me and not even asking if I’m HYDRA.”

That alone should’ve made her doubt him at least a little bit, but it doesn’t. She’s been trusting him for years now and she isn’t keen on stopping anytime soon, especially not now, when everything else has been revealed to be just lies and has crumbled around her, when right now he’s the only real thing she can put her faith in, when he’s the closest thing to a home she has.

She snuggles closer, stopping when she feels the knife kept under her jeans pressing against her skin. She takes it out and puts it on the bedside table.

“Wow, you really do trust me,” he says.

She rolls her eyes, smiling fondly. “You’re not so bad, Barton.”

She doesn’t tell him she loves him too. She doesn’t have to.

_If the world was ending you’d come over, right?_

**Author's Note:**

> So I hope this wasn't too out of character dslkfjs. A post-catws fic is a fundamental part of the Clintasha shipper starter pack and I've low-key been avoiding it because emotions are hard to write when it's not one in the morning but yay we made it! Hope everyone's doing well and healthy :)
> 
> [As usual, find me on my other platforms here!](https://linktr.ee/karasnecklace)


End file.
